


High Voltage in Her Lips

by HellNHighHeels



Series: Your heart beats faster when it's with mine [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellNHighHeels/pseuds/HellNHighHeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of space and time must have been weaved together perfectly so he would end up here. Matter and life and the universe itself exist only so he can share this heady, blissful moment with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Voltage in Her Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from Cardiac Arrest by Bad Suns
> 
> Series title from Mescaline by Robert Francis

 

His first time with her isn't what he thought it would be, not that he'd been thinking about it. But if he had, which he hadn't, he always trusted that she would know when the time was right. That she would appear before him in the night like a miracle, come to kiss him sleepy eyed and chase away the darkness of some terrible day. Or maybe he would linger outside her cell just a little too long and she would take pity on him and pull him over the threshold and into her life in the most intimate way possible. In his mind, she was gentle and understanding and as patient as ever as she guided his shaking hands to the places she wanted them most. He never once thought he would seek her out, that he would be able to think of nothing else but his mouth on hers. Never once had he considered he would be so single minded in his pursuit that he would abandon Amy and Rory on an asteroid base with no warnings or explanations. But that was before he knew who she was. There's no keeping himself away from her now, and he realizes there was only ever one way this story could end. 

 

The coordinates to her cell come easily and the next thing he knows the doors of the TARDIS are flying open and there she is, smiling up at him from her cot like she's been expecting him. Her eyes are shining and fond like he does this every day, like he's always sweeping her away into the night with a crooked grin and a kiss on the cheek.

_"Hi honey, I'm home."_

_"Is River Song your wife?"_

_"Someday I'm going to be someone you trust, completely."_

 

He must stare just a little too long because the fond look on her face bleeds into concern as she asks, "Sweetie?"

It's all the invitation he needs to stride out of the TARDIS, sonic open her cell, and take her in his arms. His lips find hers and she's soft and sweet and even better than he remembered. His grip is bruising, body pressed tightly into hers and he's not going anywhere, never running from her again. Nothing could tear him away, not Daleks, not Cybermen, not Rassilon himself could tear his mouth from hers. She's his assassin and his lover and everything in between. She's what he's been searching for. She is human and Time Lord and the best and brightest of both.

His hands are everywhere, trying to touch all of her at once. He can't get enough, like a desert cactus drinking in all it can before drought and heat and time separate them once more. She doesn't resist as he crashes his mouth against hers. In fact she responds with startling familiarity, clawing at him just as eagerly, body arching into his, fingers curling into his hair, and teeth nipping at his bottom lip. She kisses him like he makes a habit of running eager hands across her back and down to cup her backside, like he's always balling his fists in her hair and tugging her to him, so desperate for her touch that nothing could stop him or keep him away. No amount of distance or timelines or laws of the universe could come between them, certainly not steel bars or twelve thousand consecutive life sentences. 

River tears her mouth from his and he instantly begins peppering her face and neck with needy kisses. "Well hello to you too," she pants, the ragged edge to her voice cutting straight through him. "How long has it been for you?" She smirks, clearly enjoying how much he's missed her.

"A few minutes," he mumbles into her skin, careful to keep his face buried in her neck and hair. He doesn't want her to see his face in case she sees how young he is and tries to stop him. He doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to hold back, not from her, not ever again. Not now that he knows. Melody. River. Time Lord. _His_. 

"A few minutes?" she repeats, sounding less smug and more confused. "What's wrong? What's happened?" She tries to pull away but he tugs her closer, distracting her with a kiss to the shell of her ear.  

"Nothing," he whispers against sensitive flesh. "Just wanted to see you."

Her grip on his coat tightens, tugging him to her, and he makes a mental note of the way her breath hitches in her throat. "When are you, my love?"

He relents, sagging slightly against her frame and answering, "Demons Run." Her whole body tenses and he braces himself or the slap he's probably about to receive. Any minute now she'll send him back to his TARDIS, scolding him about letting her think he's older than he is and telling him to quit messing about and go search for her younger self. 

"And you came straight here?" she asks quietly. He nods, inhaling her scent and memorizing it so he'll have something to remember her by after she sends him away. 

A small chuckle rumbles from her throat and he pulls back, surprised to discover sparking eyes and curling lips. He's starting to like surprises, especially green eyed, curly headed, River shaped surprises. She isn't cross or annoyed like he thought. She looks amused and, if he’s honest, a little bit patronizing. "Are you laughing at me, River Song?" 

"A bit, yes." 

"Rude."

"Well you do have a flair for the dramatic don't you, darling? Running in here and pouncing on me like that and not telling me where you'd come from. I thought you'd lost someone!"

He presses his forehead to hers, smiling. "Quite the opposite, Melody Pond." Her name rolls off his tongue like a privilege. "I've found you and I'm never ever going to lose you again." Not now that he knows how much time they could have. Not now that he's discovered her secret. He finds his hands sliding along the hem of her shirt, caressing the warm strip of skin revealed there. His fingers inch underneath the grey prison shirt of their own accord because now that he knows one secret, he wants to know them all.

"Aren't you an eager boy," she purrs like she can read his mind, and there's an idea. Maybe she can. He'll have to ask her about that later, much later, because right now he's much too busy nuzzling into her neck and letting curious fingers dance across her stomach. The action earns him a soft hum of approval and he's almost to her chest, fingers ghosting over her ribcage, when she stills his wrist and says, "Not here."

There's hardly time to protest before she's guiding him back into the TARDIS and up the steps to the console. They're barely into the vortex before his hands are on her again. Passion sparks where their bodies meet and a hunger that has nothing to do with fish fingers pools in his abdomen. Tangling in her hair and sliding over her shoulders and down her arms to grip her hips and he can't stop _touching_ her. He needs more hands.

"You’re managing just fine with two," she chuckles into his ear and he realizes he's been muttering into her skin, smothering her neck and chest with open mouth kisses and ramblings of all the ways he wants to touch her. "Though I could put them to better use if you're open to constructive criticism."

She smirks and he pulls back to look at her, taking in her dark eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. Simply gorgeous. Suddenly he can think of nothing more than how utterly breath taking she must look in the throes of passion, head tilted back, legs trembling, lips parted, and _"I'm quite the screamer._ "

"Okay," he breathes. "Teach me." 

She hesitates, smirk falling from her face and eyeing him like he's a timid animal she doesn't want to frighten away.

"River," he adds in a firmer tone, the pads of his fingers swirling across her hip bones, making her shudder. "Show me how to touch you."

Her eyes dilate even more, lust rippling over her skin like an electrical current.  But there's a melancholy gleam flickering within those green orbs and, to his surprise, it's her hands that are trembling.  Realization startles him.

_"It's all back to front. Your firsts are my lasts."_

 

"It won't be the last time," he promises. "I'll see you again. When I'm older, I'll find you."

"That's spoilers." She smiles, but he can tell she doesn't believe him, that she thinks he's making empty promises he has no way of keeping. But he knows better.

_"The last time I saw you, the real you, future you..."_ No. Don't think about that. Never think about that. 

 

He covers her hands with his own, marveling at how small and delicate they are. He'd never noticed before, but he plans to remedy that. He plans to memorize everything about her. She's the most fascinating puzzle in the entire universe, the only thing worth solving or learning and he is ever the eager pupil. 

Together they remove her top, slowly revealing honey skin, sharp lines of her collar bone, and full, rounded breasts. Exposed to the cool air, her nipples stand to attention and the sudden urge to take one in his lips, to suckle and nibble and taste that dusky pink skin, makes his mouth water. But he resists, managing instead to cup them, weighing each one in his hands. She fits perfectly. Bespoke. "Oh, you are perfect." 

"And you're maddeningly slow," she growls, the look on her face positively lecherous and he knows with absolutely certainty it is a mirror of his own. 

"Now who's eager?" He grins, thumbs flicking over the perky buds until they pebble in his hands.

"Shut up, time boy," she rebuttals, curling her hands around the back of his neck and tugging him into her viciously. Their lips slide together with urgency, his tongue snaking out to prod her bottom lip. She opens instantly, inviting him inside to taste her. Spices and time and something irrefutably River burst across his tongue.

He groans, hands abandoning her breasts to grasp vigorously for her hips and back her up and onto console. Shapely, muscled legs coil around his hips like a vice, leaving him no choice but to grind into her. She retaliates by digging her heels into his backside, urging him on. His body operates without his permission, increasingly tight trousers nudging at her and seeking out delicious friction. Nails bite into the back of his neck, stinging his flesh and he gives a sharp hiss into her mouth. She chuckles, low and throaty and filthy, the sound of it making his hips twitch in anticipation. An act she must take as invitation because now her capable little hands are sliding down his front, burning like hot coals as they make their descent down his chest and stomach and reach for his zip and –

He breaks away from her mouth, panting as he captures her wrists. A curious brow arches at him, but she says nothing as he places her hands behind her on the console. The increasing ache in his trousers protests the act, but he intends to savor this moment, to study her intensely and with extreme care.

He will run his fingers over every inch of her until he knows her golden skin better than he knows his own. After all, hers in infinitely more interesting, all smooth skin and tantalizing curves and soft edges. She is a work or art, tight, honey skin speckled with scars, each one a story, an adventure, evidence of a life lived. He wants to learn about them all, to map her body and every delicate curve, to discover her hopes and fears and secrets and everything in between. "How did you get this?" He asks, running his fingers over a mark on her shoulder.

Her lips twitch at the memory as she answers, "Sontarans."

"And this?" His hands travel down the valley between her breasts to rest on a crescent shaped scar on her ribs.

"Ask Jack Harkness." She smirks.

“I wasn’t aware you two had met.” The possibility had never occurred to him, mostly because the universe is still intact and surely that much innuendo in one room couldn’t be sustained by the laws of physics.

“Oh,” she purrs, ”The Captain and I go way back.”

“What’s he a Captain of anyway?”

“Is that a hint of jealousy, my love?”

He snorts derisively but says nothing. She takes pity on him, adding, “It was strictly professional, even when he was in handcuffs.”

He smiles at that, lips curling triumphantly as his hands continue their journey south. They stall over a jagged looking mark more faded than the rest and he asks, "What about this one?" 

She watches him intently for a moment, no doubt wondering how much of the story to tell. He wonders if he was there, or worse, if it was his fault.

"Had my appendix removed." She offers easily and he frowns, definitely his fault then.

"You're a terrible liar." He declares.

She laughs openly. "A girl has to have some secrets. Now shut up and touch me."  

He obeys, raking a nipple through his teeth. She gasps, hands flying up to fist in his hair. "Do you like that, River?" A hum of approval is her only response so he nips at her nipple again. "I want to hear you say it." The lust and demand in his voice surprises him. He needs her to say it as much as she wants to be made to.

River visibly shivers, something he considers no simple feat. It would be a lie to say his hearts didn't beat in overtime at the knowledge that he could reduce a woman like a River Song to quivers and gasps with only the sound of his voice. 

"I like it when you bite me," she confesses shamelessly.

"Like this?" Teeth dig into the tender skin of her rib cage, tongue flicking over her scar and eliciting a deliciously sinful moan.

"Yes," she pants, hips rocking toward him of their own accord. "Want your teeth and tongue everywhere."

He kisses and licks and sucks and bites his way downward, leaving behind a trail of red marks like a map. He takes his time, wanting to study her, memorize every curve and savor every noise. He pays extra attention to marks already adorning her body, willing himself into every crevasse of her life, folding himself into her memories in hopes that when she sees them she will think of this moment. She will forget all about Sontarans and Jack and only recall his mouth and hot, needy kisses and the way he makes her shiver. When he reaches the jagged mark in the dip of her hip, he kisses it sweetly, pressing soft lipped apologies for things he hasn’t done yet into the tender flesh.

She whimpers, hips lifting in encouragement. He smirks, loving this wanton, needy side of her and wanting nothing more than to hear what other desperate noises she can make. He hooks his fingers under the hem of her trousers and tugs, her hips lifting to assist as he slides them slowly down her legs. The smell of her arousal clouds his senses, darkening his gaze and igniting fresh heat in his abdomen. All he wants to do is bury himself in her, touch her, taste her, fill her, until he doesn't know where he ends and she begins. The hand now tugging at his hair tells him she wants that too. 

But not yet, he's not done worshiping her.

Starting with her knees, he trails his fingers slowly up, up, and over her inner thighs only to stop before he reaches the place she wants him most. She wiggles in protest, legs opening wider in invitation. He accepts, lips ghosting over the path his fingers had taken, pausing briefly before her core to spare an upward glance. Her face and body are flushed, chest heaving with shaky breaths as she watches him in eager anticipation.

He lifts a single finger to slide over her, silky heat drawing him in and he can't help but groan. "You really are a bad, bad girl aren't you?" he says in a low hot voice, teasing her with the closeness of his breath. 

"You have no idea." She chuckles, the hand in his hair flexing, a silent demand for his mouth on her sex. He swallows hard, wanting nothing more than to find out just how bad she is. He wants to know why she has handcuffs and all the creative ways she's going to debauch him in the future.

He wants to make her scream, and he didn't know quite how much until this very moment. 

Finally, he presses his mouth to her, and she moans like he's pulled it from somewhere deep within, somewhere secret and wanton. He loves that noise. He wants to crawl inside her and draw that noise out of her so he can hear it again and again and again until it's all he hears for the rest of eternity. 

His tongue explores her further, prodding and twisting and flicking. She doesn't disappoint, rewarding his ministrations with gasps of pleasure that send flames licking at his insides until he thinks he'll combust from sheer heat. Desperate hands clutch at her hips as he hauls her closer to his mouth, burying inside of her, needing her like a drowning man needs air. 

His enthusiasm spurs on her noises so he drags one hand away from her hips to slide two long fingers inside her. "Oh god, _sweetie_." She barely chokes the words out before his mouth latches around her sensitive bundle of nerves. She abandons words then, throwing her head back and grinding into his face.

He experiments with speed and pressure, curling his fingers and flicking his tongue over her clit. He knows he's on the right track because her moans are climbing higher and higher in volume and pitch. Wanton noises are bouncing off the walls and her body is trembling around him and, god, he'll never be able to look at the console again without seeing her spread out before him. He'll feel the warmth of her skin with each brush of his hand over the controls. He'll hear her moans in the groaning of the time rotor as it pulses mid flight. He'll feel her shaking in his arms every time the ship shudders to a landing.

Suddenly her body goes taut, thighs wrapping around his head and holding him in place. She comes hard and without warning, fluttering and pulsing around his fingers.

No, this isn't how he imagined their first time at all; it's so much better.

He places one last kiss to the sensitive bundle before looking up at her, pleased with himself and entirely too smug. Still hazy from pleasure, she allows it, cupping his face and dragging him to her lips for a tender kiss. Grateful hands rake over his body, shoving his jacket and suspends off his shoulders and clever fingers make short work of his shirt buttons and free him from his trousers.

Without warning she's sliding off the console and pushing him until the backs of his knees hit the jump seat. She's on him instantly, straddling him. He has no complaints, hands flying to her hips as she sinks down on him, the action ripping a strangled noise from the back of his throat. Tears sting his eyes because it just feels so _good_. The only thing tying him to sanity is the feel of her knees pressed tightly against his hips. Their bodies rock together, all his synapses firing at once. She's above him and around him and he can taste her on his tongue and smell her hair as it brushes against his cheeks and he's drowning in her. He belongs to her, a slave to the motion of her hips and the way they slide against his own. He wishes he could live in this moment forever, made for the sole purpose of filling her perfectly, existing only to draw filthy, sinful, _glorious_ noises of pleasure from her lips.  

Above him her hands clutch at her own breasts, unruly curls swaying wildly around her face and he can't take his eyes off her. It’s more than just her ravished appearance he's gawking at. He's admiring more than just her flesh; he's marveling at her soul. At this moment he is baring witness to her every hope, every fear, every fault. And she is magnificent. She is wild and flawless and unique in all the universe, and he can’t imagine anything more perfect. 

Some of the red marks on her chest are blossoming into bruises and a new thrill shoots through him. He'll look for them now, messages from his future self, promises of love and pleasure in the form of purples and blues. He'll use her body like a diary, placing her time stream by swollen lips and teeth marks in secret places.

The muscles in his abdomen begin to clench, hot and cold washing all through him again and again and the higher he climbs the more certain he becomes that everything that's ever happened has been building to this moment, that all of space and time must have been weaved together perfectly so he would end up here. Matter and life and the universe itself exist only so he can share this heady, blissful moment with her. Everything within him is contracting, coiling tighter and tighter until he's sure he's going to rip in two. Above him she screams and he isn't far behind, Pleasure crashing through them like tidal waves as she collapses onto his chest.

 

\----

 

He wakes up alone, but the empty sheets beside him are still warm. The bed in question isn't his, so it must be theirs. He likes the sound of that, _their_ bedroom. 

He vaguely remembers finding it last night as he chased River through the halls, stumbling after her as she taunted him with the last of the biscuits. He remembers tumbling into bed in a flurry of giggles and shrieks as he tickled and wrestled the sweets from her grasp. 

He had hoped to wake up the same way he fell asleep, limbs tangled together and her hair tickling his face, but she must have awoken before him and gone to make tea. Maybe she'll bring him back a scone or a biscuit or any number of delicious things. Maybe they have a routine. Maybe she always wakes up before him and she brings back treats and the day passes in a blur of buttered toast and tangled limbs and warm sheets. He can see it now, his future laid out in front of him: lazy Sundays and warm tea and the smell of her hair while she reads to him and falling asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.

Suddenly the future doesn't look so scary anymore. He wants her to hog the covers and talk about archaeology. He wants to trip over heels she abandoned in the hallway.  He wants the smell of her skin to linger on his sheets for weeks, months, years. 

His cheeks start to ache and he realizes it's because he's smiling. A stupid, school boy grin that splits his face in two. He never ever wants to stop and it's all because of her. She made him smile like this. Just her presence makes him giddy and he can't wait to tug her into his arms and tell her so.  

He rolls over to bury his face in her pillow, to imprint the warmth of it in his memory forever. But instead of soft sheets, he's met with the crinkling of paper. A note, he realizes, from her. _"I know how you hate goodbyes. Until the next time, sweetie."_

His smile is gone and visions of breakfast in bed feel distant and unattainable. But maybe it’s better that she left. If she stayed, he might have never let her leave.

He tells himself he’s glad he didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. He wouldn’t know how to say it anyway.

 

 


End file.
